Tough Lover
by lowkeytrash
Summary: Tyler Breeze is a god and he expects to be treated like one. Tyler Breeze/Fandango. Cross-posted from AO3.
1. voulez-vous

**A/N:** Because after the Gorgeous Truth/Goldango fallout, this really had to be written or else my brain was going to explode. Mostly kayfabe. Not really sure where this is going to go as I plan on following the WWE timeline as best as I can.

* * *

"Pretty."

"I know." Tyler hums his approval, but doesn't look away from his reflection. He runs his hands through his hair, smoothing it out, still feeling less than perfect after his match. Granted, it hadn't been much of a match, but it had been enough for him to break a sweat and that alone makes Tyler feel repulsive. _Common_. He watches Fandango in the mirror. The older man leans up against the wall and just smiles. It's the same smile that he gave Tyler in the ring. The kind of smile that makes Tyler's stomach flip-flop. The kind of smile that leaves Tyler's head spinning with what-ifs and why-nots and maybes. He's still in awe of what happened. Still confused by the tension he felt when he made the pin on Goldust and locked eyes with the other man. He turns around in his chair and raises his eyebrow. "Why'd you help me?"

"Because I think you'd make a better dance partner than _Oldust_ ," Fandango says with a chuckle and crosses his arms. He flexes—maybe involuntarily, maybe not—and Tyler fixates on him. The curve of his biceps, the dents of his hips above his sparkly black pants, the way the cheap fluorescent light hits his skin and makes him glisten like some sort of angel. He's pretty too. Has he always been this good looking? Tyler bristles at the thought of anyone potentially dethroning him as the most stunning man in the WWE.

"Of course I'd make a better dance partner." Tyler makes a tutting sound. "For one, I'm not a washed up uggo in a catsuit." He stands up and stretches, proudly putting his gorgeous body on display as if trying to prove his point. He closes his eyes and prays that the lighting does the same wonders for him that it does to the other man. Based on the small gasp that he hears, he imagines that it does. The warm hand on his chest is a surprise, causing Tyler's eyes to snap open. "Uh…" He wracks his brain, trying desperately to remember Fandango's real name. Does he even _have_ a real name? He's always just been Fandango.

"Problem?"

"No," Tyler lies. "Don't be ridiculous." Names don't matter when he's sprawled out on his back, eyes heavy-lidded and mouth slack, body begging to be touched—worshiped. Besides, he's become more than accustomed to all sorts of stupid stage names that plague the modelling industry, and Fandango's name is most certainly stupid.

"That's good." The brunette glides his hand down Tyler's chest and stops at the furry belt cinched around his hips.

Tyler clenches his jaw and inhales sharply. He hates this. He hates how needy he is. Not that he has much choice in the matter. The unfortunate side effect of choosing to wrestle full time is a severe lack of other gorgeous people to sleep with. Of course, Tyler would never admit that he, Tyler Breeze, hasn't been with anyone except his own hand in months. Truly tragic, he thinks to himself. Fandango—god, what an awful name—hasn't moved except to grip the waistband of Tyler's pants. Head spinning, thoughts hazy, Tyler still manages to bat Fandango's hand away. If he thinks that he's going to fuck Tyler Goddamn Breeze in a disgusting dressing room then he's sorely mistaken.

"What's the matter?" Fandango says, voice already dark and full of lust. His pupils are blown wide, like two black holes trying to draw Tyler in. Trying to capture him. Tyler rolls his eyes.

"I'm not some cheap whore, you know," he says with a trace of venom in his tone. It sounds meaner than intended, but Tyler's never been one for apologies. He really isn't a cheap whore, though. He doesn't want to be treated like anything less than the god he is—a gift for mankind to stare at in envy and admiration. Fandango's face falls. His expression isn't so different than the one he wore earlier in the night, flustered with the disaster of the match, anxiously waiting for the tag. That was before the look, though. The look that more or less set this entire encounter into motion. "I've got expensive tastes, that's all."

"I can handle expensive." Fandango cups a hand on Tyler's cheek, and damn it all to hell if Tyler doesn't lean into it. "Anything you want."

Tyler's eyes sparkle. He's got him exactly where he wants him. Hook, line and sinker, the older man took the bait. It's too easy, really, and Tyler isn't sure if he's disappointed or not. He purses his lips into his trademark pout and tries his best to look unimpressed. Really, he has no reason to be impressed yet. It's nothing but talk so far. Pretty words for a pretty man that Fandango can't seem to take his eyes off of. Luckily, Tyler likes pretty things quite a lot. He thinks of expensive champagne and penthouse suites and luxurious sheets for him to clutch desperately until the sun peeks through the windows. "I want a hotel room. A nice one. Something big and expensive. Impress me."

"Of course, babe," Fandango says, nodding. Tyler stiffens at the nickname. "I'll take care of it." He doesn't seem phased in the slightest, just agrees willingly and without fanfare. "I'll take care of you."

Suddenly, his lips are close. So close. No further than a hair's breadth away. His breath is warm against Tyler's mouth and, fuck, kissing him is so tempting. This is a game, though—cat and mouse, hunter and hunted—and Tyler has no intention of losing. Not yet. That part comes later when he's being ravished on a hotel bed and crying for more. _More_. For now, he turns his head to the side haughtily and takes some sort of sick joy in hearing the agitated noise that Fandango makes. Ignoring the desire pooling in his gut becomes more difficult with each second, and Tyler knows that, despite his very obvious issues with this filthy place, he'd be on his knees in a heartbeat if the other man asked.

"Take care of it." Tyler says, turning around to hide the crimson blush creeping up his face. He starts to shove his belongings into a Gucci duffel bag. "Fifteen minutes. I'll be waiting."


	2. more more more

Tyler is unimpressed when Fandango pulls up in front of the hotel, still unimpressed when he's lead up to the top floor, and _still_ unimpressed when he steps into the suite and takes a look around. The flooring is carpet, not marble. The furniture is...basic, to say the least, with a relatively bland beige color scheme. He sighs and looks over his shoulder. "It'll do," he says.

"I had short notice, you know," Fandango retorts. He brushes past the blonde man and heads to the windows. He pulls the drapes open and grins.

This must be why he chose the room, Tyler thinks. The lights of the city twinkle below, but the real beauty is the view of the river. The water is dark and reflective—a mirror probably capable of capturing _most_ of Tyler's gorgeousness. _Probably_. Fandango looks pleased with himself, like he knows that he did a decent job. Tyler has to privately admit that, overall, it's not half-bad. It gives him a lot to think about. Mostly thoughts that he doesn't feel like ruminating on, to be honest. Emotions and feelings are beneath him.

"So?"

"So? It's a river." Tyler still isn't going to let the other man win yet. No, no, this is all a power play. A feeble attempt on Fandango's part to lower Tyler's guard. It has to be. He shrugs and picks up the smallest bag from his stack of luggage. "I need a shower," he says, walking off towards the bathroom. He sways his hips a little more than necessary, knowing full well that Fandango is watching. It's an invitation of sorts, and one that Tyler hopes isn't too subtle.

He doesn't bother closing the door as he strips down and turns on the faucet. He admires himself in the mirror. Tired, filthy, but still undeniably gorgeous. He's not surprised when the other man's head peeks through the doorway and catches his eye. He smirks. Like shooting fish in a barrel. Fandango opens his mouth but Tyler shushes him before he has a chance to get a word out. Honestly, fuck talking right now unless it's in the form of compliments and complete adoration. He turns around, unabashed in all of his naked glory.

"You're lucky, you know." Tyler points his finger in the other man's face. He takes the look of confusion as his cue to continue. "I don't even know your name and you have the _privilege_ of touching perfection personified."

"My name's Fan—" Tyler shuts him up with a hard slap to the face.

"I swear to Givenchy, if you tell me Fandango is your name I'm going to lose it."

"It's Johnny," he snaps back.

 _"Johnny?"_ Tyler says with a look of disgust. Boring. Still handsome, though. He makes a little humming noise. "Well, Johnny, like I was saying…" He trails off as he steps into the shower. He crooks his finger, beckoning the older man over. "You should feel honored."

Johnny stares, obviously conflicted. It doesn't matter, though. Tyler's going to win. He closes his eyes and ducks his head under the water. It's a solid minute before he realizes two things. One, he forgot to grab his soap and shampoo during his attempt at seduction. Two, Fandango or Johnny or Whoever is just standing there, staring at Tyler through the glass wall.

"What are you doing?" Tyler asks, annoyed.

"Thinking. Watching." Johnny winks and Tyler feels a sort of fluttering in his chest. Gross, that can't be normal. He makes a mental note to go see a cardiologist.

"Be useful and hand me my things," Tyler says, motioning towards the small hoard of containers on the countertop. Johnny sighs and picks up a bottle, studying the label.

"Twenty-four karat gold hair mask?" He scoffs and Tyler narrows his eyes.

"Just give it to me." Johnny scoops up the products and Tyler opens the shower door to snatch them away from him. The brunette looks at him expectantly and Tyler almost feels pity for a second or two. "Thank you," Tyler forces himself to say. The words feel foreign in his mouth but somehow not entirely revolting.

"You're welcome," Johnny says. He smiles, flashing impeccably white teeth. Tyler makes another mental note to go visit the dentist.

"So…" Fuck. _Fuck_. Stay strong. "You should get in here." It comes out way less commanding and intimidating than Tyler wants it to.

"The view here is nice." Johnny's eyes roam over Tyler's body with no sense of urgency. No desperation. Oh, he's good.

"Suit yourself." Tyler shuts the door and steps back under the water, this time with his shampoo in hand. Games are exhausting. Tyler needs a new strategy. He makes quite a show of lathering up his scalp, making sure that Johnny can see him from all of the most flattering angles. Tiny rivers run along the curve of Tyler's spine, down his chest, his arms. The warmth of the water relaxes his muscles, still tense from his match. Always tense, really. He opens one eye carefully and steals a glance at the other man and _oh_ , he's naked now. A shiver runs through Tyler's body. He doesn't have time to fully digest the sight, seeing as he has to act uninterested. In reality, his brain is screaming.

"Hey." Johnny's at the door now, pulling it open. Tyler gulps. Straightens his posture.

"Hey."

"I _do_ feel honored." He reaches out and puts a finger under Tyler's chin, lifting his head up to lock eyes. Tyler's knees nearly give out. His heart is beating so hard, so fast. He really needs to call the cardiologist. He clears his throat.

"Good," he says, his voice a little shaky. He takes a deep breath to get himself centered. "You're going to fucking _worship_ me." Tyler stretches up on his toes and licks a stripe up Johnny's neck. The moan that comes as a result is positively sinful and causes Tyler to take a step back. The shower suddenly feels way too hot, way too confined. The steam is making it hard to breathe, that's all.

Johnny closes the distance between them and threads his hands in Tyler's hair. He kisses him, long and slow, and Tyler feels his head spin as their tongues meet. It feels like Tyler is floating. He's lighter than air, hovering above his body. He's lightheaded and unsteady on his feet as he pulls away. He hopes it's the steam causing all of this. He'll have to look these symptoms up on WebMD later. Fumbling hands find the faucet and shut it off. Johnny eyes him curiously and Tyler puffs out his chest.

"I don't want my skin getting all pruney," he says. It's a good excuse, honestly, because who the hell wants pruney skin? Johnny laughs and shakes his head.

"I thought I was high maintenance, you know." He steps out of the shower and hands Tyler a towel. The blonde stares at it blankly and, thankfully, Johnny takes the hint. He's a fast learner. "You're something else," he says as he takes the towel and starts to dry off Tyler's back.

"One of a kind."

"That's for sure." It sounds half sarcastic and half sincere. Tyler chooses to believe that it's more of the latter. Johnny tosses the towel onto the ground and playfully smacks Tyler's ass. "Alright, babe, let's go," he says, scooping Tyler up into his arms.

He carries him to the bed and lays Tyler down on the stark white sheets. Good thing he looks fantastic in white. Tyler stretches gracefully, like a cat, and looks up at Johnny with eyes that he just _knows_ look desperate, but at this point he's okay with desperate.

He just didn't want to be the one to buckle first.


	3. c'est si bon

Des Moines, Iowa is nobody's idea of romantic, especially not Tyler's. Not that Tyler is looking for romance, of course, but sex always feels better in places like Milan or Paris or some exclusive resort in the Caribbean. Unfortunately, he's not in any of those places, which he finds particularly annoying. He tells himself that he's settling. There's a voice in his head screaming for him to stop, but he just _can't,_ and that terrifies him. He has to continuously remind himself that the dancer is beneath him. He's not worth all of this attention. Johnny sits on the edge of the bed and watches Tyler with doe eyes. If only Tyler knew what he was thinking, maybe all of this would make more sense.

"You're beautiful," Johnny says.

"Mm, yes." Tyler agrees. His face is smug. "And?"

"And, um…" Johnny looks up at the ceiling as though he'll find an answer hidden somewhere up there. "You're...smart?"

"True, but unimportant." Tyler rolls his eyes. It was a good effort. Johnny sighs, seemingly exasperated, and picks at his nails. Disgusting. Tyler grimaces and kicks his foot out at the other man. "Stop that, it's awful," he says. He pats a spot on the bed next to him. "Just get up here."

Johnny crawls into place beside the blonde and wraps his arms around him. Tyler doesn't quite know how to react. At first, the feeling is strange and unwelcome. Something about it is surprisingly intimate, and he is decidedly _not_ a fan of that. At the same time, however, it's warm and comfortable. Johnny's breath tickles the hairs on Tyler's neck in a way that's not entirely unpleasant. It's even less unpleasant when his skin is suddenly being peppered with soft kisses that send chills rocketing through his body. He instinctively relaxes and sinks further into Johnny's embrace. It's only a little bit of a surprise when he feels Johnny's cock against his back, already half-hard. _Of course_ he's hard, he's pressed up against Tyler Breeze.

"I've wanted this for so long," Johnny whispers. He nuzzles Tyler's neck and grinds his hips against the other man.

"Who hasn't?" he snarks, but the words are difficult to get out. There's a sort of tightness in Tyler's gut that he doesn't understand. He _feels_ something. Not something physically but something that he tries to shove off into a distant corner of his mind. He feels _nervous_ , and it's quite bothersome. He's never nervous, not even when he's waiting in the Gorilla position for a match to begin. Come to think of it, he can't remember the last time he felt this way. He absolutely detests it.

"You're impossible." Johnny says, pulling Tyler closer and realigning himself.

"Some people find it charming." Tyler says. Johnny chuckles and strokes Tyler's hair. _Don't you dare,_ he thinks for a brief moment, but he finds himself not caring after a few seconds. He'll have to brush his hair later, obviously, but the action is so calming that he doesn't have the heart to stop Johnny, good looks be damned. It's nothing that can't be fixed. He hates admitting that he likes this, even if it's only to himself. Tyler doesn't _cuddle_ , he doesn't lay in bed with anyone else unless he's on his back with his legs spread. This all feels so wrong, like it goes against everything that Tyler cares about and believes in. He needs to snap out of it.

"Let me suck you off," he says without any sort of emotion. He needs a distraction and fast.

"Oh," Johnny says, his tone laced with uncertainty. "You're sure?"

"I said it, didn't I?" Tyler pulls away, crawls on his hands and knees to the edge of the bed, and turns around. Johnny slowly rolls over onto his back and makes eye contact with the blonde man. He wears a confused expression, but he's already hard and twitching as Tyler runs his fingers gently along his thighs. "You really do want me, huh?"

Johnny mumbles something under his breath and shuts his eyes. Bingo. Tyler flicks his tongue over the head of Johnny's cock and then takes him fully in his mouth, sinking down as far as he can. If only cock sucking was a skill to be put on a resumé or something, because Tyler definitely has it down to an art if Johnny's moaning is any indication. He looks up, mouth stretched wide, eyes glassy, and Johnny meets his gaze.

"I wish you could see yourself right now," he says between heavy breaths. He smiles and caresses Tyler's cheek. The younger man bobs his head up and down, hollowing his cheeks. "Fuck, you look gorgeous like this."

Tyler moans around Johnny's cock and catches the look of realization that crosses the other man's face. Damn it.

"You're so good at this, babe." Johnny thrusts up into Tyler's mouth, tugging on his hair. Tyler moans again. He's painfully hard, much to his disdain. He doesn't want this, but now Johnny knows his weakness. Johnny understands now. "Incredible." A sigh. "Fucking beautiful." Laboured breathing.

Tyler sucks harder, quickens his pace. Johnny won't shut up about how wonderful he is and it's starting to rub him the wrong way. It's the way he says these things that makes Tyler feel different. It's not hollow praise for the sake of getting him off, they're genuine compliments. Thankfully, due to Tyler's godlike expertise, he knows that Johnny is close. The man curses and whimpers and frantically holds onto the bedsheets. He comes hard, and Tyler swallows quickly. He's simply going through the motions at this point—keeps licking and sucking until Johnny begs him to stop. He moves back up to rest his head on his pillow and curls up on his side.

"You okay?" Johnny asks after a few minutes of silence. He puts his hand on Tyler's shoulder. How can Tyler respond to that? Of course he's not okay, it feels like his entire reality has been shattered in a single night.

"Fine," he says. "Just tired."

He knows that Johnny must think he's lost his marbles. Only a few hours before, he'd been so confident and now? Now he's a broken shell of himself. He doesn't understand. He doesn't bother brushing his teeth or fixing his hair, something that he'll surely regret in the morning.

"You're a fucking god, you know," Johnny says. He scoots closer to Tyler and slings an arm around his waist. Tyler doesn't respond, he just covers up with the bedspread and clamps his eyes shut, praying that sleep comes quickly.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry this is kinda short. The next chapter will be longer and will probably be up later tonight ( 5/17/16) or tomorrow morning.**


	4. calypso breakdown

"Knock knock."

Tyler's stomach drops. He's done a great job of avoiding Johnny for the past few days, but he knew that eventually time would run out. Unfortunately, hiding from his tag team partner forever would definitely be frowned upon.

"What do you want?" He snaps. He turns arounds and picks at imaginary lint on his fluffy purple vest.

"We're up soon," Johnny says. He shifts around on his feet and clears his throat. "Look, I know you don't want to talk to me. I'm sure you have your reasons but you could at least have the decency to be polite."

"Whatever." Tyler simply wants the conversation to end _._ Focusing on his match is what's important right now, not personal drama. "Just don't fuck up in the ring and we'll see about me being polite."

"Enough with the bullshit, Tyler." Johnny clenches his jaw.

" _Ex-cuse me_?" Tyler scoffs and bows up to the other man. "I don't owe you anything, okay?" He jams his finger into the middle of Johnny's chest. "Nothing. _You're_ nothing. It happened and it's over." He's seething now, face red hot and hands balled into fists. "Count your blessings and move on."

"Some fuckin' blessing."

This is awful. Beyond awful. Tyler didn't mean to start a fight but now he wants nothing more than to punch Johnny's perfect teeth down his throat. Instead, he smacks him hard across the face. The other man's jaw drops and he holds his hand to his cheek. He looks as though he wants to scream and cry and fight just as much as Tyler does, but there's also a profound sadness in his eyes—a look of genuine hurt. Apologizing is _not_ in Tyler's nature. He hates how vulnerable and weak it makes him feel, but, goddamn it, Johnny looks so pitiful, like a dog who's been kicked, and it stirs something inside of him. Tyler swallows his pride and looks away sheepishly.

"Look, I'm sorry." The words are nearly impossible to spit out.

Johnny stares at him like he just fell from the sky. "You're _sorry_?"

"I'm not going to repeat myself," Tyler says. Once was more than enough.

"You're driving me crazy," Johnny says with a sigh. He shakes his head and rubs his temples. A smile tugs ever so slightly at his lips and it makes Tyler want to melt. Fuck this handsome man who just _had_ to shove his way into Tyler's life. Sure, he'd been the one that decided to team up with R Truth against Goldango, therefore involving himself in _Johnny's_ life, but Tyler doesn't like to overthink things. The point is, Johnny ended up right in front of him in all of his sexy, sparkling glory and it's both infuriating and wonderful at the same time. "Don't think for a second that I'm not still angry at you."

"Fair enough." Tyler crosses his arms and taps his foot impatiently. "Look, let's just go out there and show them what us pretty boys can do." Tyler says. He heads to the door but Johnny catches him by the wrist and pulls him back into a tight hug. Tyler's first instinct is to jerk away, but instead he shuts his eyes and leans into the other man.

Something that sounds vaguely like 'thank you' is mumbled into Tyler's hair and he can't help but grin. Stupid Name Johnny-Fandango-Whoever is going to be the death of him.

It takes all of twenty seconds after the bell rings for Tyler to end up in the corner—perfectly smooth ponytail now a thing of the past—with R Truth and Goldust both attacking him while he's down. Ten more seconds and his forehead's busted open and he's seeing red. Nobody fucks with his face and gets away with it. The rest of the match is a blur, partially because it's incredibly short lived, and partially because adrenaline is pulsing through his body. After a tag or two—that part he _does_ remember—he pins Goldust and gets the win. When his music starts pumping, he rolls out of the ring and into Johnny's arms. The older man is all smiles and pulls Tyler in close as they walk up the ramp and out of the arena. He looks so proud, so happy. Tyler's chest feels like it's going to burst. God, winning feels fantastic after losing for so long. It's almost fantastic enough to make him forget about the extensive damage to his forehead. _Almost._

Tyler screams as soon as they're out of earshot of any cameras. "Can you fucking believe this?" He points to the blood on his head and furrows his brows. He storms off with Johnny right on his heels.

"It's not that bad."

" _Not that bad?I_ " Tyler kicks over a trash can that he passes, scattering paper across the floor.

"Get a hold of yourself," Johnny says, grabbing him by the shoulders and stopping him dead in his tracks. Tyler pouts. "It's just a little cut, alright? We'll go clean it off and you'll be fine."

Tyler grumbles and stomps into his dressing room. He studies his forehead in the mirror with a frown. Okay, maybe he _is_ overreacting. He can't even really see a cut and the only blood is already dry and flaking off. Gross. He digs through his duffel bag and pulls out a small first aid kit. He more or less shoves it into Johnny's hands.

"I'm pretty sure you can manage to do this on your own," Johnny says, but it doesn't stop him from pulling out an alcohol pad, some Neosporin and a Band-Aid.

"Of course I can, but you're here so… _fuck, that burns."_ Tyler hisses as Johnny wipes the cut clean.

"Tyler, I swear, you don't even need a bandage."

Tyler checks the mirror and has to agree. The cut's all but invisible. "Alright, fine, but if it busts open and I start looking like Stone Cold at 'Maina 13 it's all your fault."

Johnny laughs. "You're such a drama queen."

"Pretty rich coming from a man who's also wearing sparkles and has a tendency to turn everything into some shitty Dancing with the Stars reject scenario." He's not serious, for once, and he hopes that his tone conveys that.

"Oh yeah?" Johnny puts his hands on Tyler's hips and sways to a rhythm that only he can hear. "Don't act like you don't want to dance with me."

"Ugh, I _don't_ dance." Tyler says, scrunching up his face. He catches himself though and stops immediately. Avoiding wrinkles is crucial."Party, sure, but no dancing." Tyler has been to more club openings and exclusive parties than he can count, but that always ends in him getting shit-faced and having drunken sex and passing out in an unknown bed, _not_ dancing. He doesn't like the idea of being pressed up against so many sweaty people, most of them probably uggos.

"We're going to have to change that, then."

Tyler raises an eyebrow. "I don't think so."

"Where are you staying tonight?" Johnny asks, still holding on to Tyler as he continues to swivel back and forth.

"If I tell you will you quit that stupid hip shaking?"

Johnny stops himself and cocks his head to the side. "Yeah, I guess."

"I'll text you the directions." Tyler says, breaking away from Johnny to retrieve his cell phone. He types away and hits send. "There you go."

"Thanks." He smiles and kisses Tyler's cheek.

"This doesn't mean anything, you know." Tyler says. He needs to nip this in the bud before this continues. He doesn't want Johnny to have any expectations of sex or cuddling or _anything_ remotely romantic. It's not romantic. This whole situation feels so strange. Tyler's not quite sure what he wants. After their last hotel encounter ended so uncomfortably, he's hesitant to even invite Johnny over for the night.

"I know." Johnny says. "We can just...hang out or something."

"Yeah, we can just hang out," Tyler echoes. Ugh, he hates himself. He knows exactly where this is going and it pisses him off to no end. He doesn't want to fuck. Well, okay, he kinda does, but he's so conflicted about it that it makes him feel sick. "I want to get out of here." He haphazardly shoves his belongings into his bag, not even bothering to change clothes.

"I'll walk you outside," Johnny says. Tyler starts to protest on his way out the door but Johnny's already right behind him. In the end, it ends up being a good thing as they encounter Golden Truth in the hallway. Johnny delivers a cheesy insult and Tyler laughs for the cameras before they continue on their way.

"The second we lose to those decrepit uggos, I'm leaving wrestling for good." Tyler spots his car in the lot and hits the unlock button. "Well, here we are." He shrugs and his eyes dart around anxiously. Why the fuck is he so anxious?

"I'll meet you at the hotel, then?" Johnny checks his phone, presumably looking at the directions.

"Yeah, just…" Tyler takes a deep breath. "Just come by whenever. I'll be awake."

"Right. Okay." Now it's Johnny who looks nervous. "I'll see you in a bit." There's so much tension and Tyler can't put his finger on the root cause of it. He probably could if he _really_ thought about it, but that's something he definitely doesn't want to do at the moment. They exchange tight-lipped smiles before both turning away and going about their own business. Tyler throws his bag into the passenger side of his car and slams the door shut as he flops into the driver's seat. He sits, unblinking, for what seems like an eternity. His mind races with so many thoughts and, unfortunately, what seem like emotions. He feels so empty and hollow and his heart truly _aches._ Aches for something more than what he's willing to accept. He slumps forward against the steering wheel and lays his head down on it.

For the first time in ages, Tyler Breeze starts to cry.


	5. do it with feeling

Tyler pulls out his cell, opens snapchat and stares at himself on the screen. He's a fucking hot mess to behold, and he's never locked his phone so fast in his life. It's not often that the King of Selfies isn't photo-ready. His eyes are puffy, his face is red, and his nose won't stop running all over the damn place. He starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot. The drive to his hotel isn't _terribly_ far, but he's exhausted both mentally and physically and the thought of having to focus on the road for an hour or so is unappealing. Thank god he's got the next few days off and he can actually go home, although he hasn't decided which home he wants to go to. A change of scenery will undoubtedly help clear his head.

He turns on the radio, though it's so low in the background that the words are impossible to make sense of. It's nice, though, having a little noise to distract the darker parts of his mind. Sitting in a silent car with only the sound of the wind rushing past the windows is a dangerous situation to be in, based on Tyler's past experiences. It leads to way too much soul searching and deep thinking and...ugh. The last time that happened he found himself fantasizing about Xavier and while, of course, he _adores_ Xavier, he can think of plenty of people he'd rather fuck. Xavier is just his friend, nothing more.

Admittedly, Tyler hasn't been much of a friend lately. With his brain so muddled by thoughts of a certain good looking dancer and his mess of a love life, he hasn't reached out to anyone else in a while. Tyler has the tendency to bottle up his emotions because it's just _easier_...kinda...not really. Okay, in reality he knows it's an awful way of dealing with his problems but admitting he even has problems in the first place is _so_ not cute. He's Tyler Breeze, international super model and the envy of thousands of people around the globe. He would rather die—glamorously, duh—instead of showing even the slightest trace of weakness.

At a stoplight, he pulls out his phone again. He looks much better now that he's had time to relax, so he takes a couple of selfies for his own benefit before sending another one to Xavier.

 _I miss you._

Of all of the people he's met and befriended, Xavier is the only one that he feels even remotely comfortable opening up to. The time they spent together in their old apartment is the longest that Tyler has been able to tolerate living with another human being. His phone buzzes in his lap.

 _Miss you too. Chill soon?_

Tyler chews the inside of his cheek and tosses the phone aside when the traffic light turns green. He'll have to reply later because even that simple question is enough to send his brain into overdrive. It's like some sort of scratched record continuously playing the same strain over and over again until it drives him nearly insane. That droning, repeated sound says _Johnny Johnny Johnny_ and it is absolutely, without a doubt, the worst thing Tyler has imagined in a while. Records? What the fuck decade is he living in?

He turns up the radio and is greeted with the religious ramblings of some late-night pastor. He hates it, but it's better than the noise in his head, so he lets the old man berate him over his lifestyle choices and how he needs to come to Jesus and how he should stop everything and give himself to the Lord _right this second._ He cranks up the volume as he speeds down the highway toward his hotel.

It's just before midnight when Prince Pretty makes his grand entrance into the hotel lobby. Selfie stick in hand and bellhop in tow, he checks in at the front desk and shoos the bellboy away to go drop his bags off. He looks outrageously out of place, standing aloof in his fur vest and skintight pants while businessmen and women in cheap suits shuffle past him. Ah, the downsides of a three-star hotel near an airport.

"Tyler!" He hears a voice call his name and scans the room. There, sitting at the bar, is Johnny and Jesus Christ (sorry, radio-pastor, for taking the Lord's name in vain), Tyler's heart nearly stops. How in the hell does he have the _audacity_ to look so fucking good? He waves at the blonde man and motions to the empty stool next to him. Tyler fluffs his vest and saunters over to the bar. He hadn't really entertained the idea of Johnny beating him here, but he supposes that his minor breakdown in the parking lot is the reason why this has happened.

"What took you so long?" Johnny asks as Tyler sits down. He's slurring his words a little and nursing a fruity looking cocktail.

"Oh, uh, I stopped to get gas and stretch my legs a little." It's a plausible lie even when he doesn't take Johnny's obvious lack of sobriety into consideration.

"Cool, cool," Johnny says. He flags down the bartender and points to Tyler. "Put whatever he wants on my tab."

Tyler hadn't planned on drinking, but he can't turn down free booze. Besides, he has time off to unwind however he sees fit and as long as he makes his flight the next day he'll be golden. He orders a vodka soda—the least fattening of alcoholic beverages—and drains the glass in a matter of seconds. No use in wasting time if he wants to end up plastered. He orders another and turns to Johnny who wears a look of bewilderment and awe.

"Look, I've got a lot of shit I don't want to deal with right now and this is the best way I can think of to not deal with said shit." It's honest. Like, one-hundred percent honest without a hint of snark and Tyler feels his cheeks flushing. Must be the alcohol making him hot.

"That's alright." Johnny swings his arm around Tyler's shoulder and leans in close. "Let's just have fun." He finishes off his drink and shoves the empty glass aside. Tyler downs the second vodka soda even faster than the first. In a brief moment of clarity—a moment not clouded by the haze he already feels creeping into his consciousness—it dawns on him that this is probably an awful idea. That doesn't stop him from ordering shots for the both of them, however. He's way past cocktails at this point and it's time for the big leagues.

"Cheers," Tyler says, lifting the shot glass into the air and clinking it against Johnny's.

"To what?"

"Cheers to…" Shit. Tyler doesn't know. Oh, right, the tag team thing. "Cheers to the most gorgeous tag team on the planet." Both men slam the glasses down on the bar before throwing back the shots without even a grimace.

It doesn't take a genius to realize that Johnny is undressing Tyler with his eyes. He's never been subtle, even when sober, and now is not an exception. Tyler's blood feels electric, pumping through his veins and filling him with so much light and excitement and _desire_ that he can hardly focus. He's at war with his body which seems perfectly content making his pants uncomfortably tight. There are two more rounds of shots taken before Tyler fishes Johnny's wallet out and pays their tab.

"Alright, _Fandango,_ let's get you upstairs." Johnny stares at him with glassy eyes for a beat before bursting into laughter.

"So I'm Fandango again?" He looks a little hurt, now. Christ (sorry again, radio-pastor), alcohol apparently makes his emotions go haywire.

"Oh my _god,_ " Tyler says, grabbing the man's hand and pulling him to his feet. "You're whatever I want to call you. Doesn't mean I like you any less." _What the fuck._ Tyler clamps his mouth shut as though it will somehow shut him up permanently and bring back the words that just came out.

"You like me?" Johnny's eyes twinkle and a sloppy drunk smile crosses his face. Tyler ignores the question.

"Let's go, idiot." There's no malice in his voice, but he's hoping to save face. To keep some shred of his dignity instead of turning into a big mushy emotional mess in the middle of the lobby. He walks as fast as he feasibly can, practically dragging Johnny behind him, but the other man is still beaming like he's just won the most important match of his life. Tyler manages to get to the elevator and shut the door before anyone else can join them.

"I like _you,_ you know." Johnny says, leaning against the metal wall. Their hands are still intertwined and Tyler finds himself being pulled toward the other man.

"Yeah, I know you do."

Johnny's face twists up like he's trying to figure the other man out and it's a good thing he's probably too wasted to think that doesn't _want_ anyone to figure him out. The elevator chimes when it reaches the top floor and Tyler makes a move for the doors only to be stopped by a strong hand on his arm. Suddenly, he's being spun around and pulled into a kiss. It's hungry and desperate, with Johnny digging his fingers into Tyler's shoulders and trying to pull him closer even when it becomes physically impossible.

"Johnny," Tyler pants, pulling away. "Let's get out of the elevator first." Johnny pouts but follows right on Tyler's heels and pushes up against him again when they reach the door. Tyler struggles with the lock, cursing when the keycard won't fucking scan right and " _Goddamn it, Johnny,_ stop trying to fuck me."

"Sorry," the other man mumbles, not sounding at all sincere. It gives Tyler a precious three seconds to actually open the door, though, before Johnny grabs him by the hair and hauls him onto the bed. Tyler's mouth gapes in disbelief.

"I know you did _not_ just touch my hair without permission," he huffs, combing his fingers through it and tucking it behind his ears. "I also know that you are so very wrong if you think you're the one in charge here."

"Is that so?" Johnny lifts an eyebrow. It sounds like a challenge, but Tyler's not in the mood to play games.

"Yeah, it is." He tugs on Johnny's arm, bringing the man toppling down beside him on the mattress. Tyler crawls on top of the other man and rocks himself against Johnny's hips. "I may be taking your cock, but you'd better remember who the fuck's in charge." His voice is low and dark, something that's surprising even to himself. It's warm in the room, or maybe that's just the booze in his blood or maybe it's his vest, which he quickly strips out of and tosses across the room. He's impatient at this point, so he scurries over to his suitcase while simultaneously undressing—working fashion shows has made him a pro at this—and after a few seconds of digging around he pulls out a bottle of lube. Johnny takes it from him cautiously, eyes narrowed and suspicious. For once there's no ulterior motive on Tyler's part. He's drunk, he's horny, and he has a fucking demi-god in his bed (obviously Tyler is the only _true_ god here). Regardless of his status as a deity, Johnny is a masterpiece.

Tyler kneels on the ground next to the bed and waits. It takes about a minute before Johnny realizes the situation but once he does, he shucks off his clothes and stands on wobbly legs in front of the other man. There's no hesitation from Tyler, who wraps a firm hand around the base of Johnny's cock while licking long and slow over the head.

"Fuck you, Tyler Breeze," Johnny says, the sentence punctuated by a suppressed moan. Johnny tangles his fingers in Tyler's hair and if he didn't look so fucking good, Tyler would probably kill him. "Tyler…" Johnny trails off, like he can hardly form a coherent thought. Tyler swells with pride. "You're going to ruin me."

The sentence hangs there, heavy and stifling. Johnny grins but there's honesty behind his words. He doesn't mean the sex, that much is for certain. It hits Tyler hard, something that he didn't expect, but he chooses to brush it off. He releases Johnny's cock with an obscene pop and wipes at the corner of his mouth.

"I need you," Tyler says. He crawls up onto the bed and gets down on his hands and knees rather unceremoniously. His head's too cloudy to try and draw things out and complicate them. He knows what he wants and he gets it on his own terms. He hears the lid click open on the bottle of lube and feels Johnny stir behind him. He shudders, goosebumps pricking up on his arms. _Fuck_ , he needs this. There's a soft sigh and some words mumbled into the small of Tyler's back, as he feels Johnny slide two fingers inside of him. It burns for only a moment before pain turns to pleasure and he instinctively arches backwards. "I can take it."

"What?"

"Just fuck me, Johnny, damn." Tyler spits out. His words are disjointed, his breathing erratic. He arches back further and wiggles his hips. "I'm not asking. I'm telling you."

Johnny pulls out his fingers, earning a pathetic sounding whimper from Tyler, before thrusting into the other man. Both of them gasp and pause, frozen in place and time and, _oh my god,_ Tyler can't even remember the last time he felt so good. Fingers dig into Tyler's hips, no doubt leaving bruises behind but..that's oddly okay. He wants bruises. He wants to remember. He wants to be branded.

Johnny hisses as he pulls back and thrusts forward again, harder. Tyler clutches the bed spread, balling it up into his fists, and uses it to help him rock in time with Johnny's rhythm.

"You're so fucking perfect."

Tyler moans and tosses his head back. Yes, this is exactly what he wants. Just when he thinks it couldn't possibly feel any better, Johnny snakes an arm around Tyler's waist and grips his cock.

"God, I'm lucky." Johnny bends forward to kiss along Tyler's spine and realigns his hips. Christ, it must be all of the stupid dancing that he does, because he moves like nobody Tyler's ever fucked before. "Tyler," Johnny says through clenched teeth. "I want to see your face."

Tyler thinks for a second, about the fact that it wasn't his idea and that he doesn't want Johnny getting any wild ideas about being in charge. He also thinks about the fact that, truthfully, he wants to see Johnny's face too. They readjust, with Tyler laying flat on his back and Johnny on top of him, and, yeah, the view isn't half bad. He pulls Johnny in for a kiss—a _real_ kiss. It's soft and sincere and maybe a little too sappy, but that's unimportant. In that kiss, Tyler swears that he can feel himself catch fire. Flames licking at his insides and curling around his bones and filling him with something he's not quite sure of. Something he'll think about later when he's sober and doesn't have a dick in his ass.

Johnny sighs against Tyler's lips. "You are so unbelievably beautiful and I fucking hate it." Tyler furrows his brow and Johnny smiles. He runs his thumb along Tyler's jaw. "I don't care if this means something to you or not, but it means something to me." He's drunk. Super drunk. Clearly he's just spouting off at the mouth and not thinking straight. Tyler tries to ignore it but Johnny's eyes are boring into his own. Tyler rolls his hips upward and groans, a bit exaggerated, and that does the trick. Johnny's back to fucking him hard, pinning him down by the shoulders and steadily picking up speed.

Tyler can feel his orgasm building, being forced out with each and every thrust. He knows that he won't last long. He closes his eyes and simply lets the feeling wash over him. Each nerve feeling like a live wire, his body going into sensory overload. It's when Johnny kisses him that his world comes crumbling down. He cries out, bucking his hips as his come covers his stomach. Johnny's eyes widen as a string of curses falls from his lips. He comes deep inside of the other man and falls forward, nuzzling his face into the crook of Tyler's neck.

Tyler feels full. Complete. It's always a feeling that he enjoys after sex, but this time it's just a little bit different. This time he feels a little more alive.


	6. you make me feel mighty real

Tyler wakes up to the sound of Johnny's heartbeat, steady and slow. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He doesn't dare move or make a sound. Doesn't want to risk waking Johnny and ruining this moment. The sun comes in through the flimsy hotel drapes and makes Johnny _glow_. The way the light washes over his skin is, well, gorgeous, and if anyone is capable of making that observation, it's Tyler. He slowly reaches out to grab his cell phone from the nightstand, freezing in place when Johnny stirs a little. Without too much hesitation, Tyler takes a picture of someone other than himself. Granted, he's in the picture too, but he's snuggled up against this man whose beauty is undeniable, albeit second to his own. The tight feeling in his chest is something he realizes is _not_ a heart problem, and that worries him. But, shit, something about Johnny makes him rethink absolutely everything. Tyler takes a deep breath and types out a caption on the picture.

 _ **thoughts?**_

He finds Xavier's name in his friends list and presses send. Without waiting for a reply, he sneaks out of bed, taking care not to disturb the sleeping man. Tyler takes a two minute shower, gets dressed, and heads out the door.

His phone chimes on his walk to Starbucks, flashing a reply from Xavier. It's a picture of him still in bed with the blankets covering what Tyler knows is a shit eating grin.

 **that didn't take long**

Tyler groans and flips the camera the bird. He takes the picture and sends it without a caption. It only takes a minute before Xavier's name pops up on his caller ID. He takes a deep breath and accepts the call.

"Don't lecture me," Tyler snaps into the receiver before the other man can say a word.

"Yikes. That bad, huh?" Xavier's voice is raspy from sleep,

"No, it wasn't bad," Tyler says. He stops outside of the coffee shop and leans up against the building. "Damn it, that's the problem. It was good. Too good."

"I mean, I'm not really that surprised. Have you seen the way he moves? I'm pretty sure I don't even like guys but I—"

"You're not helping, asshole." Tyler sighs and rubs his temples. "It isn't just the sex. I don't know what it is."

"Does Prince Pretty actually have a _crush_ on someone?"

"Ugh, no!" Tyler scoffs. "I don't have a _crush_ , Xavier. I'm not a child."

"But you're sending me pictures of you two cuddling at—" Xavier's voice cuts off for a second or two and Tyler hears him yawn. "At eight-thirty on your day off? You're totally into him, dude."

"I hate you."

"No you don't," Xavier says with a chuckle. "You just hate it when I'm right."

"Whatever," Tyler mutters. He moves from his spot against the wall and heads inside the shop. "I need some coffee. I'll talk to you later."

"Pfft, okay. Buy your new boyfriend a coffee too."

Tyler hits the 'end call' button so hard that he nearly drops his phone. Faaan-daaan-dork is _not_ his fucking boyfriend. Not even close. He saunters up to the counter and drums his fingers on it impatiently.

"I'll take a triple grande, extra hot, nonfat, two pump vanilla, no foam latte in a double cup and..." Tyler looks down his nose at the barista, shocked to see that she doesn't even bat an eye over his order. Impressive. Xavier's voice pops into his head as he pulls out his credit card. Johnny may not be his boyfriend, but even Tyler Breeze is capable of being nice when he feels like it. After all, Johnny _had_ been an incredible fuck. Coffee is just a thank you.

"Is that all?"

"Actually, I'll take two of those." He gives his name and pays for the drinks before going off to sit down and wait. He hates that he's doing this. Well, he wants to hate it, but there's a part of him that can't wait to get back to the hotel to see Johnny's face. Tyler's not sure what kind of coffee the dancer likes and the fact that he actually kinda _cares_ about making the man happy is...weird. Super weird. He scrolls idly through his Twitter feed and snaps a few selfies while he waits. His phone vibrates in his hand with a notification from Johnny. _Fuck._ He's not supposed to be awake.

 **where r u?**

 _ **on my way back  
** **went for a walk**_

Tyler goes up to the counter and stares daggers at the barista making his coffee until she sits the cups down in front of him. He grabs them and hightails it back to the hotel.

 **ew why?**

Ugh. It's not worth the effort to respond. Truthfully, Tyler doesn't know _how_ to respond. The jig will be up as soon as he walks through the door with coffee in hand. Johnny might think it means something more than thank you. Hell, maybe it does. He fumbles with the key card, cradling a cup in the crook of his unoccupied arm. The lock clicks open and he steps inside, colliding with Johnny in the process. He gasps as the cups fall to the floor, splashing hot coffee up onto his legs.

" _Fuck!"_ Tyler jumps forward, more or less falling into Johnny's arms.

"Are you okay?!" Johnny scoops Tyler up and sits the blonde down on the bed. "I was just trying to help with the door."

"I'm fine. It's fine," Tyler says through gritted teeth. Is it fine? What a waste of time and money. And, shit, he'd gone to all of the trouble of getting Johnny something, only to have it be ruined. "I got coffee for you but…" He waves his hand at the spilled drinks.

"Thanks." Johnny smiles for a second, and it's one of the sweetest things that Tyler has ever seen. He's fucking stunning. It's terrible.

"Dammit, I spilled the coffee and I was just trying to surprise you and—" Tyler crosses his arms and pouts. "And, fuck, _I don't know why."_

"God, you're pretty when you're confused."

"Duh." Tyler smooths his hair and sits up straight. Unfortunately, being pretty doesn't feel all that important right now. He just wants to understand. "I guess I like you a lot, okay? You're on the list, like, right after my Dior sunglasses."

"Which pair?"

"The blue mirrored ones, obviously." Tyler rolls his eyes.

"Yeah," Johnny says, nodding. "Those are pretty cool glasses."

"Ooh, you should see the new ones I just bought, " Tyler says, his face lighting up. Wait, no. Unfortunately this isn't about sunglasses. He grabs Johnny's shoulders and shakes him. "Did you hear me? I said I like you."

"I heard you."

"And... _that's it?!_ Last night you said that all of this meant something to you and I know you were drunk, but—" Tyler gets cut off by Johnny shushing him and pressing a finger to Tyler's lips.

"Shut your stupid, gorgeous mouth." Johnny kisses Tyler, and it's practically a religious experience. It feels so undeniably _right_ , like the universe wants them together, and who would Tyler be to go against what the universe wants? Johnny cups Tyler's face in his hand and runs his thumb along the man's jawline. "You're perfect, Breezy."

Tyler blushes at the nickname, and it's silly and childish and cliché, but he swears that he can feel actual sparks wherever Johnny touches. Swears he can see fireworks and stars and all of that other nonsensical crap that people say when they're in love.

But Tyler is _not_ in love.

* * *

"So, you've got time off until after Extreme Rules, right?" Johnny asks through a mouthful of eggs. He chews with his mouth open. Disgusting.

"Yeah, why?" Tyler knows why. Doesn't really like the fact that he knows why, but, what the hell.

"If you're not jetting off to Morocco or something, do you want to come home with me? Meet my cat?"

"What?" Tyler freezes, fork in midair, as his eyes widen in shock. Okay, so maybe he didn't know why. He'd expected some sort of invitation, but... _his home?_ It seems awfully intimate. He chews his food slowly, aware of the slightly uncomfortable silence as Johnny stares at him, waiting for a reply. He swallows hard and wipes his mouth with his napkin. "Um, sure, I can visit."

"Cool," Johnny says with a smile. "You know, this means I'm definitely taking you dancing."

"Ha, _no._ You most certainly are not." Tyler shakes his head and pushes his empty plate away. "I told you I don't dance."

"Or you don't know _how_ to dance."

"Fuck off."

"I'm just saying, you've never danced with me before. How do you know you won't like it?" Johnny reaches across the table and puts his hand over Tyler's.

The younger man's eyes dart around, certain that everyone in the diner is watching them. They're not, thank god. Truthfully, dancing with Johnny doesn't seem all that bad. It's his god damn hips that Tyler knows will be grinding against him that makes the experience seem a little more palatable.

"Okay, you can teach me how to dance," Tyler relents. "But we are _not_ doing it in public."

"But, babe, you're going to look so good…" Johnny winks and Tyler's heart skips a beat. Of course he's going to look good, but he knows that Johnny's only stroking his ego. "I want to show you off. Make people jealous."

"We'll see." Tyler says with a shrug.

"That's not a no."

" _We'll see."_

* * *

Johnny claims to be afraid of flying and Tyler's pretty sure that it's just an excuse to hold his hand, but he doesn't say a word. The flight from Raleigh to Tampa is shorter than most, but it still gives Tyler plenty of time to ruminate on his thoughts while he pretends to sleep. He's still not exactly sure where his relationship with Johnny stands. It's nothing official, and that's probably for the best.

By the time the taxi drops them off in front of a very normal looking house in a very normal neighborhood, Tyler's stomach is in knots. Suddenly everything is so...real. It's overwhelming, to say the very least. He picks up his suitcases from the pavement and trails after the other man. Johnny struggles with his key in the lock for what seems like an eternity before the front door swings open.

"Welcome home, babe." Johnny says with a wide grin. He presses a kiss to Tyler's cheek and the blonde feels his face flush.

 _Home._ Not 'my home', just _home._ The worst part is that Tyler absolutely loves the way it sounds.


End file.
